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librosamarillos · 11 months

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passed down like folk songs

chapter 25: i remember it

Maegor Targaryen x OC

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Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI

Aenys awoke that morning surrounded by whispers from servants, from lords and then his own small council. Word had travelled fast, impossibly fast, and there was a growing rumour that Maegor had done something that angered everyone around him. It unnerved him, having people around him be angry. He wanted to keep everyone happy, to keep the peace amongst his subjects, was that not his role as King?

Surely, his brother would never do what they all accused him of doing. This whole thing must be a huge misunderstanding! Surely nothing to the extent that they were all making it out to be. Since his youth, he heard from the men around him that all men swayed from their marital bed, so much so that it had been almost expected. He did not want to think the worst of his brother, no. Perhaps these were only rumours. Perhaps Maegor had taken a lover and people saw them together on Dragonstone and that is what sparked this. But in all honesty, it didn’t make much sense to Aenys. Maegor had just opened up about his true feelings on his marriage, albeit very slightly, and from what he heard, he visited his wife nightly. So why in the world would he take a lover, or better yet, where did he even find the time to do so?

But all the rumours would be set aside soon, as Maegor was returning, Balerion being spotted in the skies. Yes, all of this mess would be settled soon. Perhaps he’d tell him to be more discreet, to be careful, to not disgrace Ceryse, but he had hoped that this was all a huge misunderstanding.

Maegor walked into the King’s solar, his face unreadable. It unsettled Aenys, in the same way it had unsettled him when they were young and barely knew each other. But he pushed past that uneasiness and approached his brother, who seemed in a foul mood. For some reason, this reassured him, because perhaps Maegor was angry at the rumours as well.

“Brother, I am glad you’re back. You will not believe what people have been saying about you!” he laughed lightly, walking close to his younger brother. Maegor easily towered over him, in fact, over everyone. He never met anyone taller or more imposing than Maegor. But his brother’s expression did not shift at all.

“What are they saying?” he asked bluntly. Aenys was a bit hesitant to say it out loud, as if afraid of Maegor’s reaction. But Aenys was being unreasonable, was he not? He was the King, he was not doing anything wrong to make sure that his brother and his hand was acting in a manner that he should be, as a Prince of the realm.

“That a wedding took place on Dragonstone two days ago.” he said lightly, phrasing it as a joke to lighten the mood. He was sure that it was all a joke. He and Maegor were growing closer, were they not? He’d never do something so silly!

“A wedding has taken place on Dragonstone.” Maegor said bluntly, crossing his arms. Aenys felt his throat close up, his lilac eyes widening. No, surely he was jesting with him. His smile slowly fell from his face, as Maegor did nothing to indicate that this was all a simple jape.

“Maegor- what are you saying?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief, looking up at Maegor expectantly, as if waiting for a punchline, or anything to dispute where his mind was going. No, surely not.

“That what you heard is true. I have taken a second wife.” he said so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the whole world, as if Aenys should’ve known already. The King stood still, hands to his sides, trying to wrap his head about what his brother had just done.

“Why in the world- Why?” he asked. A genuine question. Why in the world would Maegor do such a thing? Let alone without speaking with him about it first? He felt anger rise in him. Aenys could not remember ever feeling angry. Perhaps annoyed, or frustrated, but never to the point of anger. And yet, as Maegor stood there, arms crossed and voice nonchalant, Aenys felt angry.

“Ceryse is unable to provide me with children.” Maegor explained, his unnerving expression still unmoving. The accusation at his goodsister angered the King even more. She had been nothing but a gracious addition to their family, how dare he accuse her of something like this? He felt the need to defend her.

“And how do you know that the problem lies with Ceryse? You’ve only been wed a year, and you’ve gone and done such a thing to her?” Aenys said, pointing his finger at Maegor, heavily indicating that, for all he knew, he could be the one unable to produce an heir. Maegor’s frown deepened.

“You know nothing of what goes on between us. I have always done my part.” Maegor replied, his brows further furrowing, his jaw clenched. Aenys tried to understand what in the world had his brother in such a hurry for an heir, perhaps it was that after their father’s death, Maegor wished to introduce to his mother a grandchild? But it still made no sense.

“The septon came to me furious at the mere rumour of this whole thing. Did you not think of the uproar your actions could’ve caused?” Aenys asked, feeling a headache coming in. Gods, their father always stressed to him that he must tread lightly around the faith, and this- this would mess everything up.

“I care not what the septon says.” Maegor’s nonchalant reply made Aenys even angrier. He felt crazy, like he was the only one reacting properly to what was happening. Had he not given his brother enough? Their father’s sword, the most powerful position next to the King, gold and freedom, what was he lacking in? The common patience?

“And what do you think will happen once the news reach Oldtown and the High Septon- Ceryse’s uncle? Why? Why must you destroy the bridges that father worked to build with the faith?” he asked, feeling even more upset by the minute. The High Septon was a polite man, from what he remembered, but one their father had warned him about. He held so much power, it would be unwise to cross him, especially in something that there is no need to cross him on. Ceryse was his niece. From what she had told him, they were quite close, so he was definitely not going to react well.

“Father?” he snorted. “You think these people will have the nerve to actually do anything? They have seen what happens when they rebel against the dragon. They will not cause problems. I will see to it personally.” Maegor said casually. He spoke of battle as if he were speaking about the weather, like it was nothing to him. This was not how Aenys wanted to rule. He did not want battle and bloodshed. He wanted to rule in peace.

“The role they play is huge in Westeros! We are supposed to keep the peace with them, a balance with the faith! What you have done- without my leave, mind you- has already caused rifts and they will only grow bigger once it comes out that it was not a mere rumour. And for what? Why would you do this?” he grew more and more frustrated at Maegor’s refusal to understand, seeing himself above the issue.

“I already told you. Ceryse-”

“Ceryse has only been your wife for a year! For all you know, the problem could be with you!” Aenys yelled. The silence that followed, however, sucked out all the bravery that he had built up. He felt a chill run down his spine from the way Maegor was looking at him, like he could snap his neck with his bare hands, and he could. He was losing his temper, and Aenys was afraid. His parents were right. “Perhaps… Perhaps there’s a way to fix all of this, to prevent disaster. You will set her aside. The wedding was not of the faith, they can see it annulled, and we can say that this was all just a misunderstanding.” Aenys concluded, trying to sound confident, the way father always was, the way a King should be.

“I am not setting her aside. Alys isn’t going anywhere.” Maegor spoke firmly, his stance unmoving. Aenys paused for a moment. The name sounded familiar. It was a common name, but one that he had recently heard of.

“Alys? That’s her name?”

“Alys Harroway.” Maegor responded in the same nonchalant and blunt way he had been speaking with this whole time. Harroway. There it was. The daughter of the Lord that he had been visiting under the guise of patrolling the area for rebels. Was that truly all an excuse? Did her Lord father know? Did he even have a choice to refuse against Maegor and his rage and his dragon? Gods, this whole thing made him so angry.

“The daughter of the Lord you appointed Harrenhal to? I would’ve turned a blind eye should you have decided to take a paramour in the Riverlands, I wouldn’t even have minded your frequent visits, as long as you kept up your duties to your wife. But what you’ve done behind my back, is an abomination by the faith, Maegor!” Maegor only laughed. Aenys found himself confused, insulted even, that his brother’s response to his very reasonable anger was to laugh in his face.

“The laws of the faith may rule lesser men, but they do not rule the blood of the dragon. May I remind you, brother, that you are the product of such an abomination? Did you somehow forget that your mother was the second wife? She was the one that father married in an abomination by the faith.” Maegor’s voice was laced with irony, speaking to him in a way one might speak to a child. At the mention of his mother, Aenys shook his head, clenching his fists.

“Don’t. Do not bring up my mother, not to excuse what you’ve done.” How dare he? How dare he use his mother’s memory as an excuse, as some kind of card to play, when his own mother was still alive and well. He knew it would hurt him, he knew! And yet he did it anyway!

“Why? Because she’s dead? No, I think it’ll do you good to remember where you came from. I certainly remember where I came from.” The irony did not fade from his brother’s tone, if anything, it only increased. Just from how easily he said these horrid things, it felt like he had been holding that in for a while, like he was just waiting to use it against him.

“What you’ve so selfishly done will cause chaos- and your wife, gods, have you even thought of the shame this will bring upon her?” Aenys asked after taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He tried to keep himself calm. He was the King, not just anyone, he had to keep calm no matter what Maegor would say.

“I guarantee you that your mother did not have such care about this when they did what they did.” Maegor laughed, his deep purple eyes looking down at him in such a way that was accusatory. At that moment, Aenys felt his anger take over him.

“My parents married for love! Which I highly doubt is what you did! Not when you looked so sour and hurt when you couldn’t dance with Rowan a few days ago at the feast!” he shouted without thinking. At the mention of her name, Aenys knew he had made a mistake in bringing her up. His brother’s eyes immediately turned to steel, cold and unforgiving. Maegor never forgave anyone who crossed him. Never. He walked toward him slowly, the way a wild animal was stalking its prey. Aenys did not feel like a King, but like a scared child.

“Do not ever take her name in your mouth. You know nothing of her, of us, of what we had.” Maegor’s words were slow, clear and sharp, like a threat, like he was holding himself back from drawing Blackfyre and killing Aenys on the spot. He felt frozen under his intense glare, finding breathing increasingly difficult. He stooped just as low as Maegor had, and yet he had forgotten the physical threat that Maegor presented. Maybe in another situation, Aenys would feel guilty for bringing up Rowan, now that he knew just how much Maegor loved her, but after what Maegor implied about his mother, Aenys did not care. He managed to pull together any bravery and authority he could.

“You forget yourself Maegor. I am your King. you will either set Alys aside and clean up this mess, or you will be exiled in Pentos for five years!” he managed to say, but he knew that Maegor did not find him any more threatening than a child. Still, he frowned and nodded.

“Then exile it is. I will certainly love to see what you manage to get done without me.” he spat out, removing the pin he had given him and throwing it onto the table, the clinking sound loud in the silence between them. Aenys frowned at Maegor’s implication that he couldn’t rule without him by his side. He contemplated telling him just what father had told him, just to hurt him in return, but he held back the poison he wanted to speak.

“Blackfyre will remain here. You do not deserve our ancestral sword, not after what you’ve done!” he demanded, his eyes darting toward the blade Maegor took everywhere. It had been an olive branch, a symbol of peace between them, one that father would disapprove of. He was the one that warned him first that Maegor should be kept far away from the throne. His mother made many suggestions, from making him join the Kingsguard, to making him remain on Dragonstone, just as long as he had as little power as he could. Aenys always found them excessive and unfair, but now he understood.

“Your grace is free to come and get it, by all means.” Maegor challenged, almost eager for Aenys to dare and try to take it away from him. He seemed to enjoy making people cower. Aenys knew at that moment that this was not a hill to die on. Not when there was the very real threat of death. He’d get back the sword somehow, but not now.

“Mother and Father were right about you.” he finally spat out through clenched teeth, as Maegor turned to leave. Maegor did not respond. His glare was enough to show his rage. He stormed off, leaving Aenys alone in his solar, staring at the slammed door.

He paced around the room, trying to cool off. He had never felt anger, let alone anger this intense. He did not recognise himself. They never fought before, he thought himself above fighting. Aenys was convinced that everything could be solved through diplomacy and compromise, but Maegor, his own brother, seemed so dead set on enraging him as much as possible. He sat by the window, needing the fresh air that came in, trying to wrap his head around what was to come. The outrage from the faith, the need to find a new hand of the king as soon as possible, his goodsister and her reputation, her brothers that were still here, the High Septon, his aunt Visenya. Gods be good, what was he to do? Before long, Aenys could see Balerion fly off, heading to Dragonstone.

Visenya pinched the bridge of her nose, taking in a deep breath to calm her nerves. This was a much bigger disaster than what she had anticipated. Yes, she knew Aenys would be angry, but not to the point of exile. But it was just a small setback, a temporary issue. Aenys called for a five year exile, but Visenya doubted he’d keep it for that long. It would be a good thing for the lords of the kingdoms to see that in Maegor’s absence, things would fall apart. People would see that it was Maegor that was the one running things and that he was the one they should all be backing. It was only a matter of time before Aenys would summon him right back to King’s Landing to fix the mess he couldn’t.

The wedding had been a brief one. Maegor did not wish for any extravagance, he only wanted it to be done. She could tell that Alys found the whole ceremony strange, but went along with it. While she performed the ceremony, her mind often darted back and forth between the last two Valyrian weddings she had been part of, her own and her siblings’. Those had been much happier affairs, carefully planned and executed, nothing like Maegor’s was. She felt so entirely conflicted during the whole thing, but it was too late to look back now. The deed was done.

Her eyes darted to the door of the solar, and Rowan, who carried a basket of herbs. She had been running errands early in the morning, as it was the best time to get the best ingredients from the markets. Her routine had been the same as it always was, she always performed her duties so carefully and with a smile.

“Your grace, do you know what has happened? There was a huge commotion near the sept when I started to return here. Whatever it was about, it seemed dangerous, people were very angry.” she spoke, her tone worried, as she began to unpack the herbs into the glass bottles Visenya kept for her personal collection. She didn’t know yet. Visneya knew that she’d learn about Alys, but selfishly, she didn’t imagine that she’d be the one to tell her. It was stupid to not think of this possibility. Duncan was on his way back to their house seat to oversee their inventory for the year, thus not being here to comfort his daughter once she got the news that may devastate her. Visenya couldn’t be a coward, and yet when she opened her mouth to tell her, she felt it go dry, as the young woman’s doe eyes looked at her.

“Maegor has followed the tradition of our house and ancestors.” she began, and felt her heart twist in pain as she saw the wheels turning in Rowan’s mind. She bit her lip slightly and continued. It would do her no favours to drag it on. “He has taken a second wife on Dragonstone, the Lady Alys Harroway. Word got out, he did so without the King’s leave and Aenys was furious, as were the pious lords. They had a screaming match. In the end he made him choose between setting Alys aside or being exiled for five years.”

Visenya eyed Rowan carefully as she spoke, worried about how she would react. She expected tears and she was prepared to comfort her. Rowan’s face slowly dropped, her eyes going wide as she took in her words, going from confusion to disbelief, to a pained expression that Visenya had never seen before. She frowned and Visenya could see that there were tears beginning to build up in her green eyes.

“And he chose her. He chose exile.” Rowan finished the sentence for her, with a quivering lip. She took in a deep breath to steady herself, but nearly dropped the glass jar she was gripping, but caught it before it fully left her grasp. She stared at it for a moment, before placing it in its proper place silently. It killed Visenya to see her like this. She was considering telling her the whole truth in the hopes that it would soothe her just a tiny bit.

“Rowan-”

“What septon would even perform such ceremony?” she interrupted, suddenly looking back up at her, searching for answers in Visenya’s eyes. It was not just a question, it was a pained accusation, like she was piecing together what had taken place. Visenya was conflicted on how to go about this. Shamefully, she hadn’t thought much about this conversation between them, focusing her energy instead on the matters of the realm, and relying on Rowan finding out with everyone else. It was selfish and stupid of her.

“The septon on Dragonstone refused.” Visenya sighed, feeling guilty under Rowan's reddening eyes, and quite uneasy at how steady she had managed to keep her voice. She could tell that she was trying very hard to not fall apart in front of her, her eyes always betrayed her.

“It was you.” she stated it with a slightly strained voice. Her brows were furrowed, like she was sure of what she just said, but still wished for Visenya to refute it and deny any participation in the union. But Visenya did not. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to her.

“It was out of necessity, you may not see it now, but when the time comes, it will all make sense.” she explained gently, far gentler than she’d ever explain to anyone, but this was not just anyone. She knew that Rowan would be hurt by this, but she still wished to try and save her as much hurt as she could, if that were even possible. But what could Visenya truly say to make this better? That Maegor wished he were marrying her instead? How would that make it any softer, when it was the same sentiment with his first marriage?

“What of your gooddaughter? What of Ceryse?” Rowan spoke up after a moment of thought, this time her voice sounding much more accusatory than before, her tone raising. Visenya wondered how she could possibly explain that this would only be a temporary annoyance for her dear friend, that she’d only have to tolerate Alys for a little bit and in return she’d have a crown of her own. She heavily considered telling her the truth, but seeing the anger appear in her eyes, she knew it would be a bad idea.

“Like I said, things will become clear with time. You’ll understand.” Visenya hated to answer in riddles to the girl she partly raised. She hated it when lords and ladies did so to avoid answering something truthfully, either because the truth would incriminate them, or because they had something to lose from it. Visenya was always straightforward and blunt, and she could tell that the answer she just gave did not sit well with Rowan, in fact, it only seemed to anger her even more.

“Understand what? Why this woman is so important to him, that messing up the alliances the crown has built became no problem?” Rowan was clenching her fists, her nails digging into the flesh of her palm. Spoken like a true political mind, her father taught her well. Visenya was almost proud of how formal and diplomatic she kept her responses so far, but she could tell that Rowan wanted to add much more to that sentence. She wanted to ask about Maegor, she could feel it, but she did not bring it up. When she calmed down, Visenya would tell her as much as she could without putting her in harm’s way.

“It is only a temporary rage. They’ll calm down soon. In truth, I did not think-” she was interrupted by an exasperated laugh. She looked at Rowan with complete surprise. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised at all, but she had never seen her angry, never. Rowan saw Visenya at her lowest, at her highest, at her best and her worst. She saw her sadness, her bitterness, her resentment, her happiness and her anger. But Visenya had never seen Rowan angry- hells, she wasn’t even sure that Rowan had ever felt rage before with how calm and soft spoken she always was.

“You’re right, you weren’t thinking. Why in the world would you ever approve of such a thing- such an abomination?” Rowan’s voice was getting louder, catching Visenya completely off-guard. This anger was new, yes, but to hear her say such a thing? She knew that Rowan was close to her faith, but she had never spoken against any Valyrian practices like this. Not when Visenya taught her the language or helped her study the culture. She was always a curious and enthusiastic student. She couldn’t help feeling hurt at this revelation. How much more did she find to be abominations?

“Abomination?” her voice sounded hurt, far from the calm and stable tone she had kept during their conversation. She tried being calm, but anger was rising within her at the young woman’s words. ”Rowan, you forget yourself. Let me remind you that this practice came from Old Valyria itself. Just because you are not used to it here, does not mean that it is not perfectly fine. Did you forget about Aegon, Rhaenys and I?” she went on, trying to calm herself down. This was not about her. Rowan was hurt and she needed to be there for her, even if it meant harsh words being thrown at her. She felt a bit stupid bringing up Aegon and Rhaenys, as Rowan would know most of all the truths of their union, more so than Maegor.

“Because that was such a joyful union for you, was it not? And now, you’ve approved for Maegor to do the same to Ceryse, risking a huge rebellion with the faith and Oldtown. Quite frankly, it is beyond foolish what you have done.” Visenya felt her heart twinge in pain at Rowan’s sarcastic tone. She found herself speechless at that moment. She knew Rowan was right. Her marriage had been miserable, with few moments of joy, and most of them came to be after Rhaenys’ early death. She knew that, had she still been alive, Aegon would continue to just tolerate her for the sake of appearances and out of guilt.

And what hurt the most was that Rowan knew. Ever since she was little, when she met her, her eyes always had that understanding, knowing look in them, like she understood everything without Visenya having to utter a single word. Rowan was the one that held her hand when Aegon would slip and call her their sister’s name, Rowan was the one who hugged her when she felt like crying, she was the one who soothed her, who brushed her hair and braided it, who kept her company and kept her mind off of the pain. She was a child and it was a lot, but she never looked at it like a chore- never looked at Visenya like she was a chore. That was how Visenya felt by the other people closest to her, her parents, her siblings, hell, some of their allies too. But never Rowan. To have her say it so plainly and clearly, to point out the hypocrisy in her actions, it hurt. Visenya bit down her own tongue and gulped, trying to calm herself before she tried to calm her too.

“It was a risk he was willing to take, he is not a child. He is a man grown and does not need my approval. He made the choice himself.” she said, sounding beyond defensive and guarded, which did little to help the situation. Maegor was no longer a child, he was a man with ambition and a clear plan to follow, no matter who it scorned, and Visenya was going to stand by his side no matter what.

“And yet he couldn’t make that choice before. He needed approval then.” Rowan’s eyes betrayed her once more. She sounded, at that moment, like a hurt child who wanted to yell that it wasn’t fair, much like Maegor did when his betrothal was announced. She really looked like she was about to cry, it took everything in her to not break down and reveal everything. Rowan always soothed her, but it seemed Visenya could not do the same for her.

“Rowan, please, listen to me-” Visenya walked closer to her, closing the gap between them, going to grab her by the shoulders, to rub her back, to soothe her just a bit, but Rowan slapped her hand away, taking three steps back, as if her mere touch burned her.

“Do not touch me!” Rowan’s voice had never been this loud, never. A few tears had escaped her eyes and she swiftly wiped them away with her sleeve, as she tried to steady her breathing. All of Visneya’s anger evaporated immediately, the heavy guilt crashing onto her as she realised there was nothing she could do. For eleven years Rowan had held her and soothed her, and when she needed it the most, Visenya couldn’t do that for her, because she was a huge part of the reason she was hurt in the first place.

“Look, I understand, okay? I understand how you feel.” she finally said. There was a deep understanding of this unattainable love, to love someone so deeply but to be unable to be with him. Their reasons could not be more different, but that feeling of hurt, Visenya knew all too well. But what could Visenya’s words do now?

“How could you possibly understand how I feel?” Rowan’s voice was louder than before, angry and betrayed, her eyes only showing hurt, as the mask of diplomacy slipped off completely. Rowan was a woman now, but as Visenya looked at her, she looked so small, so much like a hurt child who needed comfort more than anything.

It was as if time stood still, as the air felt too familiar. Suddenly, Visneya was no longer in her solar in King’s Landing, but in the familiar walls of Dragonstone, in her mother’s chambers. She could remember the taste of the saltwater air, the anger in her veins, the dangerous roars that Vhagar was letting out and how she wished to do the same. She stood where Rowan stood, and in front of her was her own mother.

“How could you possibly understand how I feel?” she shouted, her young voice raspy from the yelling she had done before. She looked a mess, she remembered, her braided hair coming undone from flying so fast and for so long. She was sweaty, her clothes a mess and her eyes threatening to let out hot angry tears, but she stubbornly refused to let that happen.

“Visenya, please calm yourself down! You are being hysterical!” her mother replied, her tone one of annoyance, as if her daughter was just a disturbance to her perfect life. Valaena Velaryon was not someone who had much patience for things she considered nonsense and from the way she was looking at her, she clearly thought that what Visneya felt was nonsense.

“I don’t think I’m being hysterical enough! How could you have known this was happening and yet you stood by and did nothing? Instead you covered for them!” She knew that her mother had never favoured her much. It was clear that she was disappointed her firstborn was a daughter, let alone one that she shared so little in common with. She doted on Aegon, who was her first and only son and adored Rhaenys, who was the daughter she shared the most in common with, and also her baby. Visneya knew that her mother would’ve known, but it still felt like betrayal to the highest extent, that her own mother did not stand up for her.

“Watch your tone with me, young lady! Your sister could not help it that she fell in love with him.” she scolded her the way she always did. Visenya clenched her fists and wanted to break everything within reach. She never stood up for her, but always stood by Rhaenys. Whenever they’d argue or fight, she was always on her younger sister’s side without even asking questions, even when she was in the wrong. Visenya never argued, she understood it to be useless, since nothing would be done. She had been counting the days for Rhaenys to finally be married off and far away from her, but no. She wanted it all. She wanted what Visenya always did and she wanted to take him from her. And their mother just let her.

“And what about my love for him? Should it be cast aside in favour of your darling little girl again? And my title? Shall I hand it over to her? Give her MY birthright because she couldn’t help it? No, I refuse to sit aside and let her take that from me too!” she yelled, the tears she had been holding back finally betraying her stubborn will and spilling onto her cheeks. They all spoiled her so much and did nothing to hide their favouritism. In their youth it was toys, sometimes dresses, jewels, books, but now it was something she refused to part from. She refused to be set aside. She loved Aegon, she wanted to be his, his wife, the one he loved, but no, Rhaenys had to come in and ruin everything once again, like she always did.

“Calm yourself, gods! Your father is talking to Aegon, no one is taking your title from you. Your wedding will go on as planned.” Valaena finally looked at her, perhaps because of her tears. She couldn’t read her expression as she approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Visenya… don’t be mad at your sister… Sometimes feelings cannot be helped.” she spoke to her softly, but it felt condescending. Of course she’d have Rhaenys’ best interest at heart and not hers. Did she fear that Visenya would hurt her? Was the anger in her eyes a scary one? Good. Visneya slapped her mother’s hand away, disgusted at her words and intent.

“No! I hate her. I will hate her forever for what she did! I will never forgive her for this! And I will never forgive you for letting her- for encouraging them to betray me like this!” she shouted, pointing her finger at her mother angrily, no longer bothering to hide her tears nor hold them back. It was unfair, it was always unfair. Her mother’s little compassion had faded and her frown deepened.

“Once you become a mother, you’ll understand, then you’ll see, Visenya.” she said, as she straightened her back, her voice formal, as if teaching her a lesson. She had that condescending tone down so well, as if she had used up all her love and patience on her two youngest children and she did little to hide it. She did not even have the courtesy to pretend.

“I will never be like you! Never!” she shouted before storming out, the servants stammering away from her as she made her way to Vhagar. She did not remember how much time she spent away from home, she just remembered feeling so hurt, angry and betrayed, the only one who understood and cared for her being Vhagar.

Rowan’s face betrayed anger and so much hurt. In that moment, Visenya was afraid. Afraid that she had repeated her late mother’s mistakes, resulting in the pain she caused to the girl she saw as her own daughter. It felt so eerie, as if she were repeating her own mother’s empty words, as if the ghost of her mother was looking at her with a smug smile. It made her so angry at herself. Had she suppressed those memories so much that she forgot?

“I’m sorry, Rowan, truly. I only ask you to trust me in this. Believe me, there is no love in that union, there’ll never be. In the future, you will see.” she spoke softly, grabbing hold of Rowan’s hands. Her sweet girl, who did everything right, was still the one hurt the most. She rubbed small circles onto the back of her hands, finding it hard to look into her hurt eyes. She felt ashamed that she had let it all come to this. She hated to look back on what should have been, as it was too painful, but she couldn’t help it. If she had fought Aegon harder on the issue, if she had flown both Rowan and Maegor to Dragonstone and wed them at once, things would be so much different. She knew that if Rowan was the one who could not conceive, Maegor would not even think about looking elsewhere for an heir.

“It’s not me you need to apologise to.” she spoke calmly once more. Ceryse, she always cared so much about Ceryse. Visenya could not claim to have had many friends, she could not claim to know how much care went into such relationships, but she understood how deep the bond between the women was growing. She cared deeply for Ceryse, her reputation and her feelings. Perhaps even more so than herself.

“You know what I mean. I know you love him dearly.” Visneya spoke softly again, like it was a secret she just confessed out loud, one that was agreed upon to remain forever silent. Rowan frowned, her lip quivering at her words. She pulled back, her eyes searching hers for the truth.

“Is that why you were so eager to push me to marry Tybolt? To feel less guilty?” she asked, her tone accusatory once more, her expression one of betrayal and hurt. Visenya furrowed her brows, immediately shaking her head no. This would imply that she knew of Maegor’s idea all along, which she did not, but it was a conclusion she understood. This all looked so premeditated and planned out, how could she not think that?

“Rowan, no, I only wanted you to find a good match.” Visenya defended herself, speaking honestly from the heart. She only wanted Rowan to be happy one day, with someone who would cherish her. Perhaps it did come from guilt, from the guilt of knowing that she could have pushed Aegon further, she could have fought more, but did not. She caved at Aegon’s affection, his rare promise of a little love. She had been so starved of it and yearned for it so much, that it was all it took for her to cave in. She was ashamed.

“I will take my leave, your grace. I believe my friend needs me.” Rowan said, after sniffling and wiping her eyes once more, trying to hide any evidence of tears or despair. Her voice went back into that familiar tone of diplomacy, her posture straight and tall. She took in a deep breath and made her way to the door and Visneya wanted to run behind her and stop her, to hold her and tell her everything.

“Rowan, please. As hurtful as it sounds, she will understand as well, just as I did. And so will you. It’ll take some time, but-” she pleaded, which she never did, she was always too proud. But now she felt desperate to not lose Rowan, her own daughter in many ways, her sweet little girl, who was walking out of the room, from her.

“I will never be like you.” she cut Visenya off, her eyes showing disappointment beyond all the hurt. She would’ve preferred her anger and her harsh words, but this? No, this was proof that she had fucked up so much that it could even be beyond repair. She was losing her.

taglist:@heartstalked@stupidocupido@discowizard88@slytherisstuff

#maegor targaryen x oc #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #visenya targaryen #visenya the conqueror #aenys targaryen

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florihilda · 5 years

Text

Lilac

Just a little while longer, just a little further up-- and there is a beautiful, solemn place: apart from coin, apart from the endless war, apart from any sovereign other than the divine.

(OOC: Here, have some accompanying music!)

The air seems impossibly thin, upon this remote mountainside-- but it only serves to make one’s lungs all the more strong. Flora breathes in deeply as she hoists herself over a steep ledge-- As much as she has numbed herself to her old fear of heights, it remains a relief to rest on solid ground again.

She stays there for a long while, resting on her back and staring up at the endless grey skies. There’s a faint crackle of levin in a faraway cloud-- but that hardly ever means much other than a spring shower, in these parts, so she doesn’t think about where to find shelter, or anything like this.

Her mind is swimming with questions that seem stupid, today. Stupid, but necessary-- “It is known that the first Fist attained the Destroyer’s sublimity at Schism, yes,” she starts again, pressing her dry, tired eyes shut, “but accounts and scriptures vary so much on the details. Was it he himself who announced to his followers that he had attained it? On his deathbed, he was said to have said this unto the man who cared for him. How-- how must he have felt? Was this what killed him? Had he known so much of the Destroyer that he-- became at peace with the death Rhalgr gave him? The mirage-- His mirage-- was it shattered in this way?”

Her brows knit for a moment, and she sits up, rubbing at her eye with a bandaged fist. As she told Martin, this faith was one of endless questions. She had envy for the Ishgardians, their Enchridion, their high Halonic masses at their cathedrals: One text, one orthodox faith-- well, mayhap it was all changing now, but the precedent, yes-- that solid, concrete precedent set was something to be envious of. “I wonder what they think of all of this-- My god of paradoxes, my faith of endless questions.”

She stands and looks down at the wasteland that stretches on and on-- Ala Ghiri is just a pretty blue stitch of embroidery on the horizon, from here, hidden behind a crest of red mountains. A little merchant caravan struggles by, on the road below-- Ul'dahn, no doubt, by the dead, languid, altitude-sick gait of the poor birds drawing the carriages.

She feels close to the world of men, still, when she sees this-- and she frowns. Just a little while longer, just a little further up-- and there is a beautiful, solemn place: apart from coin, apart from the endless war, apart from any sovereign other than the divine.

She travels and travels for bells, up a steep, rocky little trail that cuts into a little canyon. The further up she goes, little bits of fresh green vegetation sprout up from between the stones. “True knowledge of His sublimity comes to those who have spent their lives striving to know Him, but-- Ah, centuries ago, when our faith was so much more alive, I wonder--”

A pang of loneliness hits as she takes in the utter silence of this mountain path. Nothing at all like being packed into St. Reymanaud’s Cathedral, shoulder to shoulder with followers of Halone-- the hymns, the bells, the priest’s exaltations. With few notable exceptions, her days as an ascetic had been lonesome, and left her thirsty for discussion of the questions that kept appearing in her mind. “I wonder if it was easier, then, in those days-- to know Him truly. To-- to be among so many others, searching for the same closeness to Rhalgr as I am, who have taken that same vow.”

Flora briefly daydreams of what Sali Monastery must have been like in its prime, before it had become the ruin she called her home. Images flit through her head of the wizened old monks holding forums, discussing His nature-- and, finally, imparting this wisdom on the children the order had honored, by taking them as their own. It must have been such an idyllic world, there, in those days.

With some warmth, too, she thinks on Berrod, Autgar, N’hara-- And to some extent, Martin, too, was fast becoming part of this peculiar brotherhood of monks. “The Reformed Fist-- I’ve such high hopes. I owe them so much. I’ve my own role to play, among them. That much is certain.”

Autgar likened her to a priest, and often-- And more and more, each day, she had begun to see it, too. Mayhap she would not lead armies, or be a protector of the motherland. Mayhap she would never be a figurehead that the world of men respected, in any sense, because the world of men respects power and not much else-- And power could never entice her more than knowledge.

“And folk like me-- we have a place in the new Fists too, yes? Rhalgr did call me to be this way-- did he not?” She hardly ever smiles, but it’s thoughts like this-- yes, that will do it.

She finally comes upon a clearing-- the place she was looking for. The place carpeted in greenery, where the highland lilacs and the Rhalgr’s Gold bloomed with abandon. What stood in the center of this field was something strange, however: A small, wooden statue of the Destroyer. It seemed wrought not by the hand of a commissioned artisan, like so many other monuments close to the cities-- but by common, clumsy, naive hands like her own. She found offerings here, often-- offerings she had not left, herself. This was a holy place she shared with someone else, certainly, but she was unsure just how many others.

She had, in moons past, taken it upon herself to place something here of her own construction-- A plank of wood driven into the ground, with the following words carved in: “The land He strikes does not become barren.”

Whomever she shared this place with must have taken an interest to it. Every time Flora returned here, she’d find some manner of correspondence, always in the same shaky, meandering handwriting. Today was no exception-- at the base of the sign, sat a little bundle of papers, weighed down by a stone.

There’s a little scrap of folded paper on top that says “F. V.”

Flora’s heart skips a beat, when she sees it. “Ah!” She exclaims aloud, her voice echoing through the empty clearing. “Another letter-- and, ah-- it’s so much! What is all of this?” She gathers up the bundle, and unfolds the little note on top.

“I have transcribed this for you, from my own collection. Please tell me what you think. I look forward to your reply, as always.

V. M.”

“V.M., again!” Flora’s chest pounds. “How kind they are-- to always let me read such things! And this-- this is mine? Ah, what is it? Who--?”

Her excited, trembling hands thumb through the attached manuscript-- it appears to be an essay, of some sort, and a very dense one at that-- Written by a Brother Ewald, in the year 1328, the frontispiece says.

“It will take a few reads to make heads or tails of this, won’t it,” Flora admits to herself, plopping defeatedly onto the ground. V.M’s bizarre, frenetic handwriting doesn’t help matters at all.

But she settles herself in and starts to focus on the text, and it starts to make sense. The meaning of “one’s own mirage,” what it means to “best one’s own mirage--” The pieces of the Twelve hidden in all of their creations, obscured by the desires of man. Yes, yes, there’s a lot she agrees with, here, but-- “Ah, certainly ordinary men are driven by want, but this ought not mean ordinary men cannot be taught to seek His sublimity-- this is important! Our motherland was not so wounded in Brother Ewald’s time, certainly, but-- ah, this world of ours has seen much.”

Flora’s thoughts swirl and swirl until she realizes she’s come to the end of the essay. “O-Oh. Ah…” She gulps. “Mayhap I understood all of that, after all.” She has paper to write on, in her bag, and a pen her husband mistakenly left at Sali, last time he visited her there-- And V.M, it seems, does expect her thoughts.

She sets the paper out in front of her, and begins, in the finest handwriting she can muster:

“V.M.,

I am full glad, as always, to hear from you…” (tagging @berrodarmstrong, @dynamitecowboy, @nhara-tia, @friendly-fire-engaged because mentioned! THANKS FOR READING AAAA)

#ffxiv rp #ffxiv balmung

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